“A sponge tablet.”
“What’s it for?”
“It’s to absorb some of the water you’ve taken, and to swell and fill your stomach.”
“I don’t want it—I don’t need it,” Bob said, decidedly shaking his head.
“All right,” Fitz laughed, “you don’t have to take it. We just make ’em for folks who aren’t satisfied unless their stomachs are full all the time. Now I’ll eat my breakfast.”
He hastily selected and swallowed a number of tablets and pellets; then he closed the leather case with a bang and a snap and thrust it into the locker.
“Now,” he smiled, “I guess we’re all ready to play tag with that tempest. And we’ll show it a thing or two—oh, won’t we!”
“Maybe it’ll show us a thing or two,” Bob replied, grinning a sickly grin and shaking his head dubiously. “It’s getting pretty close and I don’t like the looks of it. My! Just see those clouds rolling and whirling! Fitz, I believe it’s a cyclone!”
“No, it isn’t,” his companion muttered contemptuously; “it’s nothing but a summer thunder gust.”